


night terrors

by Devarsi



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: M/M, Nightmares, PTSD, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-05-23 22:03:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6131567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devarsi/pseuds/Devarsi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the memories of the massacre still linger</p>
            </blockquote>





	night terrors

Clouds hung low and heavy over the irradiated ruins of Quincy, each image blurred in a haze of sleep but still all too vividly remembered: the sound of boots squelching in the blood-soaked mud, the screaming and gunfire of the massacre, a man staring up at him with one lifeless eye and a mangled gash where the other had been. 

Often he couldn't sleep, even as the days seemed brighter and the pain almost bearable, kept awake and staring at the fire, hating himself for flinching at every tiny sound even if he knew it was only Strurges, or a bird, or his own damn mind. Each detail around him was painfully clear, as if danger could be coming from the most innocent of noises, that any shadow or unexpected touch on his shoulder could be Clint, back from the hellish nightmare to kill him too. He didn't know why he'd survived, and though the more logical part of his mind told him there was no reason, it was just the random, meaningless cruelty of this warped wasteland, another part of his mind screamed that it should've been him, he should've done more. 

In a way it was almost worse when he could sleep, because so often he walked those same paths again but all the more clearer behind his eyes, and though he had always strove to be kind and soft for the sake of the survivors who needed him, there were still those damnable sounds in the recesses of his mind. The wet crack of a man's skull being caved in, the sound of the radio as they called for backup that never came, the weak gurgle as Hollis died along with the rest of them. He would never get any kind of burial, Preston realized some time later, and he had the image of his body tossed out by the gunners, not rotting quickly enough to prevent being torn apart by mutated wildlife.

The dreams often weren't true to life. Sometimes the general was there, dying with them. Sometimes there was no group of nineteen survivors for him to lead stumbling away from the massacre. Mostly he died there with them, as he'd thought about so many times afterwards. He could barely force himself to get up, and a selfish horrible part of himself that he despised wished there hadn't been any survivors, so he could've just died without the guilt of leaving them behind. Even as he struggled through, running from settlement to settlement in a drawn-out tragic wreck, he had hoped a bullet would find him and put to a stop to it for him.

There was another difference, suddenly: a voice he almost couldn't make out at first, which he wanted to ignore until it forced him to listen.

"Preston. Hey, Preston, I think you should wake up."

When his eyes finally opened - and that in itself felt like an unreasonable struggle - he felt like he'd been kicked repeatedly. Every muscle seemed to hurt, his head throbbed, and he started to sit up with a jolt until a hand gently touched his arm.

"Hey, it's okay. You're in Sanctuary, in bed. I'm here with you. It's okay."

It was too dark to see, with barely any light coming through the damaged walls, but Preston knew the familiar shape at his side, not doing a very good job to hide the concern in his voice. Preston took a deep breath, trying to ground himself to reality.

This wasn't the first time it had happened, and he knew bitterly it wouldn't be the last. Preston had never had the tendency to thrash around as a result of the night terrors as some of the other survivors had. This made it harder for anyone to notice anything might've been amiss, but at least it meant he wasn't likely to hurt someone in his sleep. The general had been sleeping next to him for long enough to recognize the agitated breathing, new from his own time in the war not to try to wake him physically. 

The general - Samuel - brought a hand tentatively to his jaw, which he hadn't realized until then was so tightly clenched he was gritting hit teeth. He leaned into the touch out of instinct, forced himself to steady his breathing as he listened at the silence, knowing with his mind there was no danger but still always on edge.

There was no inquiry as to what was wrong, it would've been foolish. That was part of what drove them to connect to begin with: the silent, mutual understanding as to why neither of them could sleep some nights, why they were always pain-stakingly careful to check every room even if a building had already been cleared, why Preston always sits facing an exit. Simply having him there, willing to listen if he ever needed to talk about it, that was enough.

After a pause he had finally settled his mind enough to turn, convinced for now at least that there was no pressing danger but still painfully aware of each sound. He leaned forward, forehead touching Samuel's, and sighed quietly.

It had been a long time, but he could finally say with honesty he didn't want to die, had a reason to wake up other than bitter obligation, a hope that the minutemen could be more than cowards. The marks were already seared into his body and mind, and though they would never go away he was not alone with them, friend and love who couldn't fix him, but who would be there always beside him as he picked up the pieces.

He turned, slightly, and though it was dark he searched through the shadows to see that familiar face, chase away the images of him broken and bleeding in Quincy with what was real: a face scarred but smiling and _okay_. He kissed him, deeply and slowly without heat, just seeking to touch, confirm even as he feared he couldn't trust his own eyes. Fingers wrapped around his own and squeezed with a silent consolation. 

After a moment he stood quietly, checked that his laser musket was where it had been when they had settled down the night before, assured himself the room was empty save for them, safe and serene. Finally he stepped back to bed, smiling softly and somewhat self-consciously despite being told so many times before there was no shame in being careful. For a while he'd tried not to, but it was impossible for him to even pretend to relax without checking.

Arms wrapped around him as he laid down again, and he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep any more that night. The familiarity of the arrangement was almost as comforting as the man's presence itself: Samuel would be there, always with his back safely against the wall, Preston facing the door.

Apparently he wasn't the only one feeling restless, because while he was content to sit quietly and listen to the soft breathing behind him Samuel began to mumble. He talked about the minutemen, the first ones, and the early history of the united states, though he readily admitted he wasn't the most observant student in history class and he would've paid more attention if he'd known a bomb would destroy so much written history. Quietly but avidly he told him about the president with the pets alligators, then explained what exactly an alligator was. Preston would chuckle lightly, not really knowing what was a joke and what was serious but not caring, glad to have something to distract his mind as the night slowly dragged on.

Half-listening to the story he watched as the room slowly started to lighten, heralding the approaching dawn and another day trying to build up the commonwealth. Sleepless nights were still ahead, and he feared he'd never be free of these night terrors, but the heat clinging gently to him kept him anchored, and he knew that whatever they faced, no matter the consequences and the scars, they'd face it together.

**Author's Note:**

> wasn't sure if the violence in this was really graphic enough to rate the fic E
> 
> it's like midnight and I have a cold so apologies for any spelling/grammar errors


End file.
